Gospel Story Finder

Now I speak more of temple covenants. In fulfillment of his responsibility to restore the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Prophet Joseph Smith spent much of his final years directing the construction of a temple in Nauvoo, Illinois. Through him the Lord revealed sacred teachings, doctrine, and covenants for his successors to administer in temples. There persons who were endowed were to be taught God’s plan of salvation and invited to make sacred covenants. Those who lived faithful to those covenants were promised eternal life, wherein “all things are theirs” and they “shall dwell in the presence of God and his Christ forever and ever.”
The endowment ceremonies in the Nauvoo Temple were administered just before our early pioneers were expelled to begin their historic trek to the mountains in the West. We have the testimonies of many pioneers that the power they received from being bound to Christ in their endowments in the Nauvoo Temple gave them the strength to make their epic journey and establish themselves in the West.

Kathy listened as Mr. Sodeberg explained how people migrated in the United States. She was excited about her new history class. Flipping through the pages of her new history book, Kathy stopped at a picture of Brigham Young. She had never realized Brigham Young’s significance in United States history before.
Mr. Sodeberg finished his lecture. “There will be homework every day,” he said. “Your first assignment is due tomorrow.”
At home Kathy sighed as she looked at all the questions Mr. Sodeberg had assigned.
“Tough day at school?” Mom asked.
“Homework every day,” Kathy said. She remembered the picture in her history book. “Mom, Brigham Young is in my textbook. What makes him so important in U.S. history?”
“He directed the migration of thousands of Latter-day Saints to the Salt Lake Valley. Then he organized them into settlements,” Mom said. “That took a lot of planning. It was a significant part of the country’s westward migration.”
The next day Mr. Sodeberg announced, “Next week we will perform a readers’ theater. Each of you will dramatize a character of the westward migration. Your parents and other students will be invited to attend the performance.”
Mr. Sodeberg began assigning characters and handing out scripts. When he asked who wanted the part of Brigham Young, Kathy quickly raised her hand.
“Tonight’s homework is to begin memorizing your part,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “You must recite it perfectly. Your grade depends on it.”
Kathy read over her part as she and her friend Laura left class. A terrible feeling came over her. “This is all wrong,” she said to Laura. “It makes Brigham Young sound dishonest.”
“You just see things differently because of your church,” Laura said.
“I can’t say these things,” Kathy said.
“You have to recite them perfectly,” Laura reminded her.
Tears rolled down Kathy’s cheeks as she ran home and burst through the front door.
“More homework?” Mom asked.
“Worse,” Kathy said, handing her the script. “Read this.”
Mom read the script and shook her head. “This writer didn’t know a lot about Brigham Young.”
“What should I do?” Kathy asked.
“First let’s find a Brigham Young costume,” Mom said.
Kathy tried on Grandpa’s long black coat and rolled up the sleeves on her brother’s white shirt. Mr. Grandi next door showed Kathy how to walk with his extra wooden cane.
Mom found a tall black hat in a closet and put it on Kathy’s head. “You’d make Brigham Young proud,” Mom said. “Now you need a new script.”
Kathy looked for information about Brigham Young in Church history books and on the Church Web site. Soon the script was rewritten.
“The true story of Brigham Young,” Kathy said.
On the day of the performance, Kathy’s class gathered in the auditorium. Parents and other students waited in their seats. Mr. Sodeberg introduced the program; then he stood offstage as the students recited their parts.
Alex recited his script perfectly, but Randall mixed up his words. Mr. Sodeberg made him begin again. Kathy squeezed her cane. When it was her turn, Kathy recited the true story of Brigham Young.
“Did you change your script?” Laura asked after the performance.
“Yes. I told the truth,” Kathy said.
“Here comes Mr. Sodeberg,” Laura said.
“Well done, ladies,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “Kathy,” he continued, “you were the best Brigham Young I have ever seen.”

I experience this as the Primary general president. My calling is to care not only for the children in our church, but for the children in all of the world. This is a tremendous responsibility, and at first I could feel only the burden of it. But I seek for the Lord’s help constantly. I pray for enough strength and insight to do the work I have been called to do, and for the leaders around the world, that they might have the Spirit of the Lord to help them love and understand the children for whom they are responsible. I plead with Heavenly Father to give each teacher a sense of deep responsibility, so that they might help the children to know the gospel of love. I pray for parents to love and teach their children.

Then, just the other morning, I thought, “I have been asking for so much. This morning I am not going to ask for one thing. I’m just going to be grateful.” I knelt and thanked the Lord for my good health, for my understanding husband, for our children, for our missionary son, for the privilege of serving, for the board members and staff who assist me, for stake and ward members throughout the world who are serving, and especially for the teachers who give and care so much. I thanked him for the children everywhere. I thanked him for the prophet. And the list went on. My spirit soared. What an astounding experience to know that I have so much! It takes a grateful heart to experience that soaring, that realization of how much Heavenly Father loves you, how much he does for you.

It’s Saturday! You’ve been looking forward to today all week long. You and some friends have big plans to go mountain biking. However, despite the sunny forecast that had been predicted, it’s raining buckets outside. What do you do?

Contact your friends and see if they’d be up for something different. They now want to go roller-skating, but you’ve never tried that before. It sounds kind of boring. What do you do?

You head to the roller rink, and skating is actually kind of fun. You’re about to go home when your cell phone buzzes. Your ward needs help with a last-minute service project to help a family moving to the area. Can you come?

Sure thing. You spend the next hour helping the family unload their moving truck. You notice the teenager in the family has hardly said 10 words the whole time you were there. He seems kind of shy. What do you do?

You invite the new guy over to shoot some hoops. You plan on it being a quick visit, but you soon realize he’s pretty cool once you get to know him. You spend the next two hours talking while you play ball.

On a cold winter day several years ago, I visited one of the branches in Dnipropetrovsk, Ukraine. It was fast Sunday, and we warmed ourselves in the glow of the testimonies borne in the poorly heated, rented space where we were meeting.
I especially recall the testimony of one sister whose inspired face I can still see in my mind. She was a single mother. She and her one-year-old child lived in the dormitory of the factory where she worked. Economic conditions were not good. Her wages were low and paid irregularly. Despair and then eventual hope in God brought her to the gospel.
Not long after her baptism, she was preparing food for herself and her child when a young woman who lived in the same building said: “I know things are difficult for you. Like me, you are a single mother, earning low wages, with no place of your own to live. There is little hope of a good future for yourself and your child. Like me, you have a gray, dull life. Like me, you fear for your child and the uncertainty of tomorrow. But why are you always smiling and your eyes always shining? Why does joy light up your face?”
The questions made this sister stop and think about the changes that had occurred since her baptism. As she gained faith in Jesus Christ, the fear that had corroded her life had disappeared. The path back to the Father that opened before her had permitted her to have hope, which had led her to baptism and developed within her a certainty of a tranquil and happy future for her small family. By receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, she had received a firm testimony. The false values of the world gradually gave way to the higher values of the gospel, and these higher values became a firm foundation for both thought and deed. She realized that it was precisely these changes that had given her a new outlook on the world. Long-awaited joy and peace had come into her life.

College Park High School in Pleasant Hill, California, takes dancing very seriously. In fact, one of the favorite competitions during the year is an annual ballroom dance contest. This year Ezdan and Deulene Fluckiger, a brother-sister team, took top spots in three of the five categories.
Both Deulene and Ezdan also play the piano and violin. Ezdan is on the varsity diving team and is president of his seminary class. Deulene enjoys basketball and volleyball.
Both are good students and have served as presidents of their class and quorum in the Pleasant Hill 2nd Ward, Walnut Creek California Stake.

As Sarah walked quickly down the street, she thought about her problem. Mother’s Day was only a few weeks away, and she wanted to give her mother a present. She already knew what she’d like. At the garden shop Sarah had seen her mother admiring the illustrations of some beautiful irises above a tangle of iris roots. But today when Sarah counted the money in her china bank, she realized that she didn’t have enough for the iris roots. How can I earn some more money? she wondered.
“Oh, well,” she sighed, “maybe I’ll think of something. It’s only Monday.” Then she hurried into the thrift shop where her mother volunteered her time one day each week.
“Hi, sweetie,” Sarah’s mother greeted her. “How was school today?”
“Fine as usual,” answered Sarah. “Did you get any interesting new donations?”
“Yes we did, and I’m glad you’re here to help me. You can sort through that big box in the corner. Put the dresses on hangers and match up the shoes. You know the routine.”
Sarah enjoyed looking through the boxes of rummage items that had once been treasured by someone. The new box seemed to be full of old clothes, shoes, and kitchen gadgets. Near the bottom Sarah spied a black leather purse that looked quite new. She picked it up and examined it carefully. As she opened the clasp, she saw a five-dollar bill tucked into a side pocket.
Without stopping to think, Sarah took the money out and put it into her skirt pocket. She laid the purse aside and finished sorting the clothes. Now I have enough money for mother’s present, she thought. But for some reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t feel very happy about it.
“You’re quiet today,” Sarah’s mother said coming up behind her daughter.
“Mom, where did this box come from?”
“It was picked up at Mrs. Peterson’s. She’s a widow who lives over on Green Street. Why?”
“Well,” said Sarah, “I found this purse in the box and it doesn’t look old like the rest of the things.”
“I’ll call Mrs. Peterson and ask if she meant to give it away,” Mother said. During the telephone conversation, Mrs. Peterson explained that she had misplaced the black purse that morning and had been looking all over for it. She guessed it must have fallen into the box she was preparing for the thrift shop.
“My daughter Sarah found your purse, and she will bring it over to you,” Mother promised Mrs. Peterson on the phone.
As Sarah walked to Mrs. Peterson’s home, she argued with herself. I could just keep the money. She would never know where it went. Mother would love to have the iris starts. But then Sarah remembered what they had been studying in Primary—Jesus would know, and I’d know too! She opened the purse, replaced the money, and closed it. She felt so relieved that she skipped the rest of the way to Mrs. Peterson’s house.
“You look happy,” said Mrs. Peterson when she opened the door. “And I’m happy too, because you found my missing purse. Thank you very much.”
Sarah noticed that Mrs. Peterson had a hard time walking. Suddenly she found herself asking, “Do you need any help around your house? I’m a good worker and can do all kinds of jobs.”
“What a dear child,” responded Mrs. Peterson. “I do have a hard time with my arthritis, but I couldn’t pay you anything. I only have a small pension.”
“That’s OK,” said Sarah with a smile. But she was really disappointed. Instead of finding a paying job, she had agreed to work for nothing.
Sarah offered to help Mrs. Peterson after school each Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. She swept the walks, washed windows, vacuumed, and carried trash. Afterward she’d have juice and visit with Mrs. Peterson. They quickly became good friends, and Sarah enjoyed listening to the wonderful stories that Mrs. Peterson told of her youth. One day Sarah felt glum as she realized Mother’s Day would soon be here.
“What’s your problem, Sarah?” asked Mrs. Peterson. “You seem preoccupied today.” Sarah slowly began telling Mrs. Peterson about her plan for a Mother’s Day gift that hadn’t worked out.
“I think I can help you there,” Mrs. Peterson suggested happily. “My iris bed hasn’t been cleaned in years, and the roots need dividing. If you could do the digging, I could help you separate them. Some of them are pretty enough to be show winners.”
Sarah placed a chair for Mrs. Peterson beside the flower bed and found a hand trowel and a box for the roots. She carefully dug into the dirt and lifted clump after clump of the bulbous roots, and Mrs. Peterson helped her sort and divide them. Then Sarah replanted many of the roots in Mrs. Peterson’s flower garden.
In the house, Mrs. Peterson found a pretty box and some pink ribbon. Carefully they prepared the gift for Sarah’s mother. As they worked, Sarah counted the roots and was excited to see that she had over two dozen, more than she had ever hoped to buy.
“Thank you so much for helping me with my spring housecleaning and garden work,” said Mrs. Peterson as Sarah prepared to leave.
“Thank you!” said Sarah happily. “You have given me far more than I ever hoped to earn, and besides, now I have a wonderful new friend!”

If you had met Elder Jason Brown just twenty months ago, you might have described him as a quiet, shy and camera-averse young man. But today, those who know him witness the remarkable transformation that has come through his dedicated service as a missionary.
Spend even a single day with Elder Brown now and you’ll see a bold disciple of Jesus Christ—sharing his testimony with strangers at bus stops, on public transport and on the street. His journey is a testament to the power of missionary service to shape character and strengthen faith.

But Marion had been saving his money, and resolved to serve a mission. His father could not afford to help him, but he accompanied his son to the bank where Marion borrowed the rest of what he would need. Elder Romney served an outstanding three-year mission in Australia, and returned to pay the loan in full.

“I guess I gained a testimony of Christ when my great-grandmother wrote a letter to all our family from her deathbed. She wrote about how the most important and indispensable thing in our lives was our family. I thanked my Heavenly Father for the opportunity I have to see her after I leave this world. Since we were sealed as a family, I will see her again.”
Felipe Amorim, 17São Paulo, Brazil

Though he was extremely demanding of himself in working hard to pursue excellence, Heber J. Grant was not one to criticize imperfection in others. One day when he was a young man, a speaker in church made some grammatical errors in his opening remarks. Heber was sure he could get ample material for a class at school, for which he had been assigned to bring examples of grammatical mistakes to be corrected. As he began to write, he listened for errors. But instead, he began to feel the Spirit of the Lord in what the man was saying, and he wept as testimony was born of the divinity of the Savior, the mission of Joseph Smith, and the work of the Lord.
“During the years that have passed since then,” President Grant later said, “I have never been shocked or annoyed by grammatical errors or mispronounced words on the part of those preaching the gospel. I have realized that it was like judging a man by the clothing of his language. From that day to this the one thing above all others that has impressed me has been the Spirit, the inspiration of the living God that an individual had when proclaiming the gospel, and not the language; because after all is said and done there are a great many who have never had the opportunity in the financial battle of life to accumulate the means whereby they could be clothed in an attractive manner. I have endeavored, from that day to this, and have been successful in my endeavor, to judge men and women by the spirit they have.”

The Spirit in the priesthood session was amazing! I was on the BYU–Idaho campus among hundreds of college students, and the feeling of the Spirit and the strength of the priesthood was amazing. I’ll treasure that moment in my memory forever.
Samuel S., 14, Idaho

The Eyrings’ oldest son, Henry, shared an experience that is especially tender to him. “I was in the mission field in Japan,” he recounts. “I went there with great confidence and high expectations.” But at the end of 10 months, there had not been a single baptism. “I was really down,” Henry continues, “very discouraged. And then came a short letter from my dad.” In essence, all it said was that even though the people in Japan might reject him, God would never reject him—and that Henry’s father was pleased with his son’s labors.
With some emotion, Henry concludes, “What made this so important to me was that at that moment, I felt that those were the very words God himself would have spoken to me had he written the letter.”

When I make a mess, I can say I’m sorry.
Dad, I’m sorry I spilled. Will you please help me clean it up?
Of course. Thank you for telling me right away.

Following that initial fast and testimony meeting experience, I looked forward to each subsequent fast and testimony meeting. I would fast and take the opportunity to bear my testimony. Since English is my second language, I had difficulties expressing myself during that period of my life. Therefore, I would write my testimony on a piece of paper and read it. After a few months of writing and reading my testimony, my branch president called me into his office and said that a testimony is a spiritual witness given by the Holy Ghost. He admonished me to prepare myself spiritually and to listen to the impressions I received. He asked that I be prepared to share those impressions rather than writing down my testimony as a talk. He reminded me of my first day at church when I stood and shared my testimony. He encouraged me to have faith and bear my testimony from the heart without written notes.
I accepted this challenging invitation. What I did not say to my branch president was how difficult it was for me to compose sentences, let alone express myself in the English language.
At the fast and testimony meeting following the counsel from my branch president, I stood up and walked to the pulpit. I stood at the pulpit without saying anything for what I thought was a full minute. I couldn’t remember the words I had memorized. Since I was told not to read my testimony, I wrote it down and spent the whole week committing it to memory. Finally, when I could speak, I spoke in a haphazard way. The words were meaningless in my own mind. The congregation just looked at me in a very strange way. I felt terrible.

Four-year old Olivia Karadjov and her mother, Claire, saw an opportunity for missionary work, as they prepared for their Primary presentation in the Worcester Ward, Cheltenham Stake.
Claire writes, “Olivia’s best friend at school is Ivy Rose. We had met up out of school a few times for the girls to play. I asked Ivy’s mother if she would like to come to Church and Olivia asked if she would bring Ivy to watch the Primary presentation. Ivy’s mum knew we were members; we had spoken about it from the start of our friendship, but I hadn’t had a reason to invite her to come and see before the week of the presentation. Ivy Rose’s grandmother also came to watch.”
Olivia described her part in the presentation: “For the presentation I brought a photo of my great grandma holding me when I was a baby and stuck it to a picture of the temple to show that I am sealed to her because of the temple. I showed my polar-bear toy which my great grandma gave me; it’s still one of my favourite toys. Then I sang ‘I love to See the Temple’.
“My favourite song in the Primary presentation was ‘I Am like a Star’.”
Ivy Rose and her family told Olivia and Claire that they loved the presentation. Claire expands on this, “They were amazed at how confident the children were at speaking in front of a large congregation and also at how reverent they were.”
They found it a very positive experience with everyone being friendly to them. Claire and Ivy were able to introduce them to a few friends at church, including the sister missionaries.
It can sometimes be daunting to invite our friends to Church activities. But Olivia’s courage, at just four years old, shines as an example of how to reach out with Christlike love.

Let’s start with the assignment to be a ministering sister. Whether you have that assignment as a 10-year-old daughter in a family where the father has died, or as a Relief Society president whose town was recently affected by fire, or when you are in a hospital recovering from surgery—you have a chance to fulfill your call from the Lord to be His ministering daughter.

Because she was prepared, the 10-year-old daughter put her arms around her widowed mother and prayed to know how to help her family. And she keeps at it.

Whitman wrote: “The ice storm [that winter] wasn’t generally destructive. True, a few wires came down, and there was a sudden jump in accidents along the highway. … Normally, the big walnut tree could easily have borne the weight that formed on its spreading limbs. It was the iron wedge in its heart that caused the damage.

“The story of the iron wedge began years ago when the white-haired farmer [who now inhabited the property on which the tree stood] was a lad on his father’s homestead. The sawmill had then only recently been moved from the valley, and the settlers were still finding tools and odd pieces of equipment scattered about. …

“On this particular day, [the lad found] a faller’s wedge—wide, flat, and heavy, a foot or more long, and splayed from mighty poundings. [A faller’s wedge, used to help fell a tree, is inserted in a cut made by a saw and then struck with a sledgehammer to widen the cut.] … Because he was already late for dinner, the lad laid the wedge … between the limbs of the young walnut tree his father had planted near the front gate. He would take the wedge to the shed right after dinner, or sometime when he was going that way.

“He truly meant to, but he never did. [The wedge] was there between the limbs, a little tight, when he attained his manhood. It was there, now firmly gripped, when he married and took over his father’s farm. It was half grown over on the day the threshing crew ate dinner under the tree. … Grown in and healed over, the wedge was still in the tree the winter the ice storm came.

“In the chill silence of that wintry night, … one of the three major limbs split away from the trunk and crashed to the ground. This so unbalanced the remainder of the top that it, too, split apart and went down. When the storm was over, not a twig of the once-proud tree remained.

“Early the next morning, the farmer went out to mourn his loss. …

“Then, his eyes caught sight of something in the splintered ruin. ‘The wedge,’ he muttered reproachfully. ‘The wedge I found in the south pasture.’ A glance told him why the tree had fallen. Growing, edge-up in the trunk, the wedge had prevented the limb fibers from knitting together as they should.”

At Stewart family gatherings one game that always gets dusted off is, “monopoly”. Life can sometimes feel like a game of monopoly. During a recent family event, my wife Ailsa asked me; “why are you aways so happy when you play this frustrating game”!? My answer was simple. It’s the jeopardy of playing the game that I enjoy, not the winning or the losing.

Another type of apology is the “action apology”—saying “I’m sorry” through something we do. The next time Pete and Janet had a disagreement, he sent her one white rose. Words weren’t necessary with that kind of an “I’m sorry.” The action apology can be fun and creative. Baking someone’s favorite cake, or buying a cupcake and placing a little white flag in the middle, or buying a funny item or card will tickle the funny bone. A homemade card like my friend Judy’s can say anything you wish to get the point across. How about a picture of the “temper monster” that bit you, or a picture of a leg because you could “just kick yourself.” Laughter is indeed the best medicine when it comes to injured feelings and can open the door to a more serious apology.